


The Feathered Curtain

by BlueSnafu



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSnafu/pseuds/BlueSnafu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When The Machine gives Finch and Reese the number of Alexis Kennedy—a 22-year-old violinist who is part of a globetrotting performing arts group—the pair are thrown headlong into the unconventional and eccentric world of music and theater performance. But with a cast, crew, and orchestra full of eccentric people (and some with checkered pasts) can Reese and Finch determine the source of the threat to Alexis before it’s too late, or will time run out before they discover who is targeting her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feathered Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Summer PoI hiatus got you down? Have some fic!
> 
> I wrote this in an "episode" style so it reads as an independent, self-contained plot line. I wrote it from a slightly Season 1 point of view--that is, in the timeline where Reese and Finch were regularly getting numbers from The Machine. I was struck by the thought one day wondering what it would be like for Reese and Finch to experience the completely disorganized and exuberant world of musical performance while trying to figure out how to approach the "number of the week." (Being a violinist, I know just how disorganized and confusing a musical world can be if one isn't used to it.) This is the result. A bit of intrigue, a bit of humor, and a bit of peril and action. Thanks, and happy reading!

The abandoned library in New York City stood as it had for the past several years—resolute and totally ignored. Sounds of traffic and the whisper of new summer wind filtered into the shadows of the place Harold Finch and John Reese called their office.  
“Mr. Reese, how do you feel about the violin?” Harold Finch asked his associate as he gazed into one of the multiple computer screens that were perched atop his desk in the abandoned library.  
“Depends on the player,” Reese replied as he walked out of the darkened row of books behind Finch. Reese had learned very quickly that it was useless to ask Finch how he always knew when there was another presence in the room. Years of recon and stealth training seemed impervious to Finch’s paranoia. Reese privately was more than half convinced that Harold Finch knew everything.  
Reese set down a cup of green tea next to Finch’s elbow and sipped his own preferred cup of coffee.  
“Well, I hope you enjoy Argentinean tango and,” Finch frowned, “…something called Steampunk Baroque, because our next number is a musical, if you will pardon the pun.”  
“What…did The Machine spit out the numbers of a Peruvian folk band?” Reese asked as he stooped down to scratch Bear’s ears.  
“Very funny, but no,” Finch replied. “Alexis Kennedy. Twenty-two. A recent graduate from a southern Florida university with a major in musical performance.”  
“A violinist?” Reese asked, studying the glass board where the photograph of a youthful, auburn-haired woman grinned at him from a school ID photo.  
“Yes. How did you know?” Finch asked, looking up at Reese.  
“The mark on the left side of her neck,” Reese said, pointing at the ID photo. “Violinists get them from where the instrument rubs against the skin. Also because you asked me how I like violin music.”  
“Oh. Of course.” Finch turned back to his computer. “Miss Kennedy recently joined The Feathered Curtain performing arts group after graduating from college. The act originally started down in New Orleans where they gained popularity for their combination of classical and international music, accompanied by dance and general showmanship.”  
“Sort of a Cajun Cirque du Soliel?” Reese suggested.  
“You could say that,” Finch shrugged. “The group is in New York City for the next week, giving performances on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night.”  
“Do you know why the Machine gave us her number?”  
“I’m not sure yet,” Finch said. “As far as I can tell the girl’s as clean as a whistle. No priors, no arrests—not so much as a parking ticket on her record. As to her college life, she wasn’t much of a partier. She was on a scholarship, kept her head down, studied, and did well.”  
“What about a boyfriend?” Reese asked.  
“No…no boyfriend,” Finch replied.  
“Not even an ex-boyfriend?” Reese asked hopefully.  
“No. Nothing to indicate that some jilted lover may be stalking her.”  
“No boyfriend. No priors. So, from all accounts she’s just a decent girl who’s part of a music group?”  
“That’s exactly how it seems, Mr. Reese,” Finch said.  
“Well. I guess I’ll just have to go and see what kind of a violinist Alexis Kennedy really is,” Reese said with a small smile.  
“Just be careful, Mr. Reese,” Finch said. “I don’t want her to spook. You know how jumpy young women get. One wrong move and wumph—you’ve got harassment charges and a restraining order.”  
“I’ll be discretion itself, Finch,” Reese said, and flashed a grin.

\--

“You know, Finch, I think this group’s a little on the nutty side,” Reese said into his earpiece as he made his way through a back hallway of the theater The Feathered Curtain was rehearsing in. Two live chickens and a rooster went careening down the hall, scattering feathers and squawking as stagehands chased after them. “Maybe The Machine’s afraid she’s going to be murdered by chickens.”  
“Chickens, Mr. Reese?” Finch asked.  
“Never mind.”

The theater was large, but old, lending itself to the Indie-artistic nature of The Feathered Curtain’s act. The stage was set with a bright array of Turkish tapestries and silk curtains—all of which were of course feathered. Warm lights illuminated the setting of two wooden chairs, a small table with a live parrot in an antique cage, and an accordion. Reese studied the stage with detached interest before moving to the stairs that led to an upper balcony.  
“Do you have eyes on Alexis yet?” Finch asked through the earpiece.  
“Not quite, Finch. But the orchestra’s getting set up for rehearsal, so she should be making an appearance any time.”  
Sure enough, the orchestra pit was beginning to hum with the low conversations of the musicians and the random, cluttered notes of instruments warming up.  
Reese pulled up his SLR camera and was snapping a few pictures when Alexis suddenly appeared in his viewfinder. He quickly clicked two pictures of the girl, and then lowered the camera. Alexis was dressed in a simple, soft pink sweater and dark jeans. A pair of grey Converse sneakers peeked out from under her trousers.  
“Are you sure she’s done with college, Finch?” Reese asked, taking a few more photographs.  
“Yes Mr. Reese, why?” Finch replied.  
“Well she just seems kind of young,” Reese said, shrugging unconsciously.  
“Either that or you’re just getting old,” Finch said dryly. “But I do understand what you mean. It seems like adults are getting younger and younger these days.”  
A sharp tap sounded on a music stand and the performers and musicians in the orchestra pit and stage immediately quieted.  
“All right, people, let’s take it from the top. Act 1, Fugata,” the conductor called.  
The conductor raised is baton and on his cue, and a rich Piazzolla tango rolled off the instruments of the small orchestra. On the stage, two performers began to tango, sashaying dizzyingly.  
Reese watched Alexis play. The girl played with precision and feeling, crouching into quiet staccato notes and leaping into dazzling glissandos while trading off the melody with the piano, cello, guitar, and accordion that formed the rest of the musical ensemble of the number.  
“Well, Alexis certainly seems to enjoy what she’s doing,” Reese said. “And so far the only abnormalities I’ve seen are a few stray chickens.”  
“No one appears to be stalking her?” Finch asked.  
“You mean other than me?” Reese deadpanned.  
“Yes, other than you, Mr. Reese,” Finch said.  
“Not really. I’m going to stick around for a while. Maybe see if anyone approaches her after the rehearsal,” Reese said, and clicked off the earpiece.

Reese trotted down the stairs, walking quietly backstage towards the dressing rooms and storage areas. He located the room that the musicians used to unpack their instruments in and tried the door handle. It was locked. Pulling a few wire tools from his pocket, Reese jiggled them in the lock for a moment and was rewarded with the click of a release. He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him and frowned slightly as he saw the array of music cases that were strewn around the darkened room. Which one belonged to Alexis? Stepping carefully forward so as not to accidentally land on any unsuspecting instrument case, Reese stooped at each violin case and checked for identification in the grey light.  
After nine cases, Reese finally got to Alexis’. A small plastic label card on the outside of the black case read “Alexis Kennedy” in dark purple script. Reese unzipped the sides of the case and unsnapped the latch. The inside of the case was green velvet and contained extra strings, a broken case of rosin, a cleaning cloth, a few pencils—and her phone and a set of keys. Reese picked up her phone and force paired it to his own. He then replaced the phone into the side storage pocket and studied the pictures that were attached to the inside lid of the case.  
One picture showed Alexis with another girl and a boy, both a little younger than her, with their arms around each other laughing into the camera while their hair blew in the strong breeze of a Florida beach. They bore a strong family resemblance, so Reese guessed a younger brother and sister. Another photograph was of Alexis with Joshua Bell. A third picture was of a golden retriever in mid leap towards a tennis ball in the ocean. Various other ticket stubs, performance programs, hotel cards, and maps of faraway places were tucked into the free space of the velvet interior.  
Reese closed the case and zipped it up not a moment too soon. His head whipped around as footsteps approached from the hallway. Making his way to the edge of the room, Reese flattened himself next to the door. The handle turned, and the door opened inward, hiding Reese as a roadie walked into the room carrying an amplifier and some stage equipment. Reese slipped out the door behind the man’s back and nonchalantly made his way out to the theater. 

The rehearsal had finished. Reese studied Alexis from the side door. She chatted with some of the other musicians for a minute then disappeared into the case room before reappearing clad in a light jacket with a bag over her shoulder and her violin case in hand—obviously headed out.  
“See you tomorrow,” Alexis called to the group, and headed for the door. Reese sighed. There was nothing that seemed dangerous or out of the ordinary. Alexis seemed like a perfectly nice, normal musician. No one in the orchestra or production crew seemed particularly malevolent, and besides—Finch was doing background checks on everyone in The Feathered Curtain. There definitely had been the few odd birds, but no one had stood out in the “dangerous” category as of yet.  
Nevertheless, Reese followed Alexis out. He would make sure she reached her hotel and call it a night. As he moved along the sidewalk after her, Reese’s eyes narrowed. Peering through the darkening summer air, Reese realized that someone was following Alexis. Reese did not question his intuition—it might have looked to the average person like nothing more than two people who happened to be walking in the same direction but Reese knew instinctively that the figure several paces behind Alexis was had the girl in his sights.  
Recognition clicked in Reese’s mind—it was the person who had come into the case room—the roadie. He was a young man, shaggy haired and shuffling, with a pair of slouched jeans and large black hoodie on. Reese quickened his pace.  
Suddenly the man following Alexis reached in behind his hoodie and Reese had a single thought—gun. Leaping forward, Reese ran full tilt into the man, knocking him to the ground and dragging him into an alley before Alexis could see.  
“Hey! Ow! I don’t have any money I swear!” the person cried out. Reese pulled off the man’s hood. It was a teenager and he looked terrified.  
“I don’t want any money,” Reese said, putting on his interrogation face.  
“What do you want? I’ll give it to you if I can just please don’t hurt me!” The roadie had his hands over his face.  
“Why were you following Alexis?” Reese demanded.  
“I was gonna give her something,” the teenager said through his sleeve.  
“What?”  
“Some rosin! That’s not a crime!”  
“Rosin?” Reese asked.  
“Yeah, rosin. You know—string players use it on their bows. Helps the bow grip the string—kinda like chalk when you’re rock climbing. Anyways, she mentioned how hers had broken and I’m kinda into her, so I thought I would give her a new box of it and maybe see if she’d want to…to go out with me.”  
Reese relaxed his hold on the boy.  
“What’s your name?” he asked.  
“J-Josh,” the roadie replied.  
“Well, Josh, I’ll let you go this time, but just remember—I’ll be watching you!” Reese said and flashed the police badge that he’d mooched off Stills.  
“Right, got it,” Josh said. “…I think I’m gonna throw up…”  
Reese straightened his suit and headed out of the alley.  
It had been a day full of dead ends.

\--

Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear. Reese was waiting at the library when Finch walked in at 7:15.  
“You’re a bit early, aren’t you Mr. Reese?” Finch asked.  
“Something about this is bugging me,” Reese said. He set down a file and tossed Bear’s tennis ball through a row of books absentmindedly.  
“What?” Finch asked, sitting down as Bear scrambled after the tennis ball.  
“Well, Alexis for one. This girl grew up in small town Florida for her whole life. She has a good family, a good house, and did well in her studies,” Reese said. Bear trotted up to Finch and dropped the soggy ball on his lap, waiting expectantly. Reese continued. “I mean, her mom just texted her five minutes ago asking her how New York was and Alexis texted her back saying it was fantastic.”  
Finch shrugged. “I’m assuming that there’s a point you’re trying to make through this soliloquy of observations on Alexis?”  
“Well, she’s been blowing around the world with this band for the last six months—Aruba, Kiev, Greece, Kenya, Moscow, Istanbul, New York City…but what’s a kid from small town Florida doing with a band like The Feathered Curtain? She could make better money and have a more stable environment if she’d just go solo,” Reese said. “And from the way she plays, she could probably even score a record label if she wanted to.”  
“She’s an adventurer, Mr. Reese,” Finch said, finally picking up the tennis ball and throwing it again for Bear. “She’s not in it for the money. She’s in it for the experience.”  
“Maybe so,” Reese said. He studied the photographs of Alexis’ fellow band mates as well as the cast and crew. “But someone in the group is targeting her. Maybe I should have a word with the director.”

“Who are you again?” the director asked Reese as he made a desperate dive for a Macaw parrot.  
“John Carter from the New York Times,” Reese said, with a voice recorder poised. “I’d love to get a run down of your performing arts group for my paper.”  
“Angelique didn’t tell me that any reporter was coming over,” the director said, thrusting the finally trapped bird into its cage.  
“Well if you’d like to call the Times they’d be happy to confirm my appointment,” Reese said.  
“The Times?”  
Reese smiled patiently, nodding. The telephone lines of the illustrious New York Times had been no match for Finch’s hacking skills. He was standing by should the director take a sudden notion to call and check up on Reese.  
“Yes. The Times.”  
“I see.” The director straightened up. He was not one to tempt fate. “Well, what would you like to know?”  
“Tell me a little bit about your operation here. The Feathered Curtain seems like an innovative idea.”  
Reese surreptitiously slipped his hand into the director’s pocket while he leaned closer to the man, thrusting the recorder in his face.  
“Quite right, quite right. The Feathered Curtain is dedicated to bring unique and personal performances to people of all ages and walks of life.” Reese nodded and pulled the director’s cell phone out of his pocket, force-pairing it to his own. “And five percent of all our profits go to charities all over the world—The Feathered Curtain is dedicated to changing lives through music and performance—“  
“Speaking of which, tell me about your performers,” Reese said suddenly, cutting the director off in mid sentence. Alexis walked by with her violin tucked under her right arm and a Capuchin monkey perched on her left.  
“Take her—is she a performer or a musician?” Reese asked.  
“Alexis? She’s one of our principle violinists. Nice girl—sweet—a hard worker and always early to rehearsals. Picked her up in Florida,” the director mused.  
“Florida, huh? Was she eager to get away from home?” Reese pressed.  
“I guess you could say that. She’s an old soul, Alexis. Ready to go off and see the world.”  
“Mhm. I’ll bet she’s got a lot of family here now though, right?” Reese said with a smooth smile.  
“Oh of course, of course—The Feathered Curtain is just that: a family! We treat all of our performers with respect and heart…”  
Reese sighed as the director continued his spiel. There was nothing the man was going to tell him that would be of use in the investigation. Maybe they could get something off his phone.  
“Well, thanks so much for your time,” Reese said, clicking off the digital recorder and sneaking the director’s phone back into his pocket. “That’s just about everything I need for my article.”  
Reese made his way towards the front door and dialed Finch as he pushed it open.  
“Oh—sorry,” Reese said as he bumped into a crew member coming in. “Hey, Finch, nothing more on Alexis,” Reese said.  
At the mention of Alexis’ name, the man Reese had bumped into turned and stared after Reese, who was already walking away, unaware of the person’s attention. A frown formed on the person’s face and he turned back into the building.

\--

“Do we have this wrong?” Reese was staring at Alexis’ photograph on the glass board. It was nearly 6:00 PM and so far nothing had happened to Alexis—everything seemed anxiously…normal. Well a normal as you could get with a group like The Feathered Curtain.  
“Is she the perp? Using The Feathered Curtain as a cover for some sort of…covert operation?”  
“Well, it’s possible, Mr. Reese. But I’m inclined to think it highly unlikely,” Finch replied.  
“And there was nothing on the director’s phone?” Reese asked.  
“No. Nothing whatsoever,” said Finch. “Other than a few missed appointments and stray numbers of backup performers.”  
“What about the band members?” Reese asked.  
“I already checked into them. Nothing terribly suspicious popped up.”  
“What about this man?” Reese asked, pointing a finger as he studied the glass board that now contained pictures of everyone involved in The Feathered Curtain. “He seems familiar somehow, but I can’t place him.” It was the ginger haired man that Reese had bumped into on the way out of the fake interview that afternoon.  
Finch peered at the photo.  
“Yassin Ivanovich? Let me check.” Finch limped over to his computer and typed for a few moments. “I really don’t think we’re going to get very far on a wild hunch such as this Mr. Reese…” Finch started then trailed off.  
“What is it?” Reese asked, suddenly alert.  
“Yassin Ivanovich. He’s not who he makes himself out to be.”  
“So what is he really?”  
“A spy, Mr. Reese. A spy,” Finch replied. “Yassin Ivanovich is a surname—he’s a freelance mercenary who retrieves information for hire. He had a very good cover ID—that’s why I didn’t spot it at first.”  
“And a group like The Feathered Curtain is the perfect place for someone like him to hide,” Reese said. “Going all over the world—and no one ever checks the band.”  
“You’d better get over there quick, Mr. Reese—and find out if Alexis has somehow discovered his secret!”

Reese skittered through the deserted lobby of the concert hall, running for the stage. The evening rehearsal had just ended and neither Yassin the Russian nor Alexis were in sight. Reese spotted Josh and grabbed him.  
“Alexis—have you seen her?” he asked breathlessly.  
“Whoa, take it easy dude. She’s fine. She just went to grab some takeout,” Josh said, putting his hands up in an effort to retain some personal space.  
“How long ago?” Reese demanded.  
“She went out the back door like two minutes ago, geez,” Josh said. “What is with you and Alexis? Everyone’s asking about her now. Is she in trouble or something?”  
“It’s a definite possibility,” Reese said impatiently and made a beeline for the back door.  
The back alley that led to the street was empty. Reese swore under his breath, angry with himself for not spotting the Russian before. A thud sounded from behind the dumpster in the back of the alley. Reese paused and pulled his gun out, warily approaching the dumpster while more thudding sounds banged out from behind it.  
Rounding the corner, Reese saw what he had feared: Yassin had Alexis and was smothering the girl, holding his hand over her mouth and nose while she tried desperately to get away, her hands and feet banging against the side of the dumpster as she attempted to free herself.  
“Yassin, let her go!” Reese commanded quietly, training his gun on the Russian’s head.  
“Don’t shoot—or you’ll hit the girl!” Yassin hissed. Alexis’ eyes widened in fear as her strength began to fade.  
“Let her go, Yassin!” Reese said. “It’s over—there’s nowhere for you to go.”  
Reese kept his gun trained on the Russian’s head, waiting for Yassin’s reply and angling for a moment where he could take the man by force.  
“Don’t think about jumping me or I’ll break her neck,” Yassin threatened.  
“It’s over,” Reese repeated.  
Yassin was still holding Alexis, who was looking rather limp. The Russian’s lips curled into a smile.  
“Yes. It is,” he agreed, and in one fluid motion heaved Alexis forward. As Alexis fell, Reese made a desperate grab for her while Yassin dashed forward around him. But Reese was too late. Alexis fell just short of his reach and dropped to the pavement, her head landing with a sickening thud against the concrete.  
“Alexis?” Reese said, turning her over. He twisted quickly and peered over his shoulder, but the Russian was gone. He looked back at Alexis. Blood was running down the side of her head from a nasty gash the pavement had given her and her face was a blueish purple. The harsh imprints of the Russian’s fingers were visible over her mouth and nose. “Come on Alexis—breathe!” Reese urged, feeling for a pulse. There was a faint beating, but Alexis was no longer respirating. Dropping his gun, Reese began CPR. His phone buzzed.  
“Mr. Reese? Did you get to Alexis in time?” Finch asked.  
“I don’t know, Finch,” Reese said, still compressing the girl’s chest. “Yassin smothered her in an alley. I’m trying to revive her.”  
“Will she be ok?” Finch asked. “Should I send an ambulance?”  
Suddenly Alexis took a breath.  
“No—wait. She’s breathing now. But she’s in bad shape,” Reese said, sitting back and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as the tension ebbed out of him.  
“Well how about a hospital?” Finch asked.  
“No. Too risky. Yassin would be able to find her,” Reese replied. He ripped a strip of cloth from Alexis’ jacket and pressed it against the wound on the side of her head.  
“A hotel then,” Finch said.  
“Eh…maybe not,” Reese said, picking up Alexis gingerly. “It might look a little incriminating if I walk into a hotel with a half-dead girl in my arms.”  
“Yes, I can see your point. I’m sending you the coordinates to a safe house. She should be all right there.”  
“Good,” Reese said, placing Alexis across the back seat of his car. “I’ll meet you there. Oh and Finch—bring a First Aid kit.”  
“I’m no good as a nurse, Mr. Reese,” Finch said worriedly.  
“That’s ok. I just need someone to keep an eye on her while I track down Yassin.”  
“How are you going to do that?” Finch asked. “He’s long gone by now.”  
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Reese said, and slid the car into gear. “Let’s just call it another wild hunch.” 

\--

Finch opened the door as Reese approached the back entrance to the apartment number Finch had given him.  
“Oh my goodness—you didn’t tell me she was bleeding too,” Finch said as Reese carried Alexis into the apartment.  
“Yassin threw her at me. I wasn’t able to catch her,” Reese said shortly, laying Alexis down on the couch in the small sitting room. “Did you bring the First Aid kit?”  
“Yes. Here,” Finch handed a box of medical supplies to Reese who began to dress the gash on the side of Alexis’ head.  
“Will she be ok?” Finch asked, grimacing as Reese cleaned the blood off of Alexis’ face and head and pressed more gauze against the wound.  
“Well, she’s not dead, Finch, so I’d say she’s doing pretty well.” Reese was as pragmatic as ever. “You stay here with her. I think I may have a way of tracking down Yassin.”  
“How’s that?” Finch asked. Reese stood up and went to the sink to wash his hands.  
“He bumped into me on my way out of the fake interview. I didn’t think anything of it because I didn’t know who he was,” he said.  
“So?” Finch asked.  
“I think that my phone might have force-paired with his,” Reese said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Finch.  
Finch tapped into the phone’s operating system.  
“Yes, it does look like you got a pairing with Yassin’s phone. Which is lucky. That means we can track him.”  
Reese looked troubled.  
“What is it, Mr. Reese?” Finch asked.  
“Finch, what if Yassin spooked because he saw me? Maybe he even finds out I spoke with Josh and Josh tells him I said I was a cop,” Reese said. “Tells him that I’m checking up on Alexis. So he figures that he’s busted if she tells me his secret.”  
“Well, I suppose that’s possible,” Finch said.  
“Then technically, Alexis is hurt and almost dead—because of me,” Reese said.  
“You can’t blame yourself, Mr. Reese,” Finch said. “The Machine gave us her number. She was in danger regardless of whether you were in the picture or not.”  
Reese sighed. “I guess so. Now. How about those coordinates?”

\--

Reese had left armed with a coordinate and a fresh clip of bullets to go and track down Yassin. The time had been a little after 8:30 PM.  
Now it was late. Finch sighed and turned back towards Alexis. The girl had not moved since Reese had laid her there.  
“Alexis?” Finch asked. The girl was stirring faintly on the sofa. She raised a hand to her head and groaned. “Alexis?” Finch asked again. He laid a hand on Alexis’ shoulder and gently shook her.  
“What….going…on…” Her words came out in a slow slur.  
“It’s all right. My name is Mr. Finch. I’m looking out for you,” Finch said.  
Alexis drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her hand dropped and remained still.  
“Alexis? Can you hear me?” Finch asked.  
The answer was no—Alexis had either passed out again or was too deep in the haze of concussion to reply.  
Finch sat back and looked at his watch. It was 12:00 AM and Reese had not yet returned. Nothing to do but wait.

\--

In a different part of town, Reese had made good progress, initially.  
He had tracked down the coordinates that Finch had given him via the GPS in Yassin’s phone. It was a bar in a sleazy side of town, full of drunks and derelicts.  
Reese had entered with his usual air of reserved prowess and stayed in the shadows, searching for the Russian.  
He spotted Yassin’s cropped ginger hair residing in a booth towards the back of the bar—the corner one, with his back to the wall and his eyes towards the door. Reese ducked back farther into the shadows and assessed the situation. Yassin was there for a meet. That much was obvious. But it didn’t look like the buyer had showed up yet.  
Just the way Reese liked it.

\--

Finch’s eyes snapped open with a start. His phone was buzzing. It was Reese.  
“Mr. Reese, how are you progressing?” Finch asked, his eyes adjusting to the grey morning light.  
“Not as well as I had hoped,” Reese said. He was coming out of a deserted alley behind the bar; his face was cut and bruised and two bullet holes were visible in the front of his shirt.  
“You mean Yassin’s whereabouts are still unknown?” Finch asked with concern.  
“That’s about the size of it,” Reese said, grimacing and pulling open his shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest. “I’m just lucky the guys around here are too drunk and idiotic to go for head shots.”  
“Are you all right, Mr. Reese?” Finch queried. Reese paused for a moment as his mind flitted over what had led up to his near-demise in the back of the alley.  
He had slid into the booth Yassin was sitting at, his gun trained on the Russian under the table. That bit had gone smashingly, but Reese hadn’t counted on the fact that around seven seconds later the buyer had showed up with a gun of his own. What happened next Reese preferred to refer to as “controlled chaos.” Finch would probably have called it something along the lines of “insanity.”  
The buyer had spooked and shot Reese at point blank range. Chaos ensued. Eventually the entire bar had been in uproar, with Reese dead center in the middle of it. He had been beaten up and tossed out the back door; not even Reese could contend with an entire bar full of angry drunks after being shot. The Russian himself had provided another bullet to the chest that Reese had taken, leaving him for dead in the alley.  
“I’ll live,” Reese said shortly, in answer to Finch’s query. “How’s Alexis?” he asked, examining a busted cell phone he noticed on the ground next to him. It was the Russian’s. No chance of tracking him now through that route.  
“She woke up once at around midnight—“ Finch paused and glanced at his watch. It was a little after 5:00 AM. “But she wasn’t awake for very long.”  
“She probably has a concussion,” Reese said, wincing as he slid into the driver’s seat of his car.  
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Finch said. Suddenly Alexis moved. “It looks like she’s coming around,” Finch said. “Our conversation must have woken her.”  
Alexis blinked and raised her head.  
“Who are you?” she asked. “Where am I?”  
“It’s ok,” Finch said, holding a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “You’re safe here.”  
Fear was evident on the girl’s face.  
“Who are you, and how did I get here?” she asked again, sitting up abruptly.  
“Ehem…Mr. Reese, you’d better get back here on the double. She’s definitely awake and getting rather agitated,” Finch said and clicked the phone off.  
“My name is Harold Finch. My associate, Mr. Reese, rescued you from Yassin—do you remember?” Finch asked.  
“I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut, evidently struggling to remember. “Yeah…Yassin. He grabbed me when I walked out of rehearsal. It felt like he was trying to kill me—I remember that. But that’s it,” Alexis said. “The next thing I know…I woke up here.” Her last sentence was pointed.  
“Oh, don’t worry,” Finch said. “Mr. Reese and I had nothing to do with your attempted murder—we stopped it from happening, in fact.”  
“What are you…like, FBI or something?” Alexis asked. “Spooks? Friendly neighborhood crime fighters?”  
“Not exactly police…more of the latter,” Finch said.  
Alexis regarded Finch with a mistrusting stare and sat back, evidently still exhausted.  
“Here.” Finch handed her a glass of water. “It would be good if you hydrated. I can get you some Tylenol too if you like. I can only imagine the headache you have right now.”  
Alexis took the glass of water but refused the Tylenol that Finch offered.  
“You didn’t try to kill me?” Alexis asked.  
“No,” Finch said.  
“You didn’t try to kidnap me?” Alexis asked.  
“No,” Finch replied.  
“Then what am I doing here? Why didn’t you take me to a hospital? I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus.” Alexis said, feeling at the bandage on her head.  
“We felt that it would be too dangerous to take you to a hospital. Yassin could be monitoring all of emergency rooms and inpatients,” Finch said.  
“Oh. Um, well, can I go now? I really don’t know who you are and I’d like to get back to the theater…they’re probably wondering why I didn’t show up for rehearsal…” Alexis said, sitting forward on the edge of the sofa.  
“I understand, Ms. Kennedy, but it would be extremely unwise for you to go back to either the theater or to your hotel. In all likelihood Yassin is watching both of those places as well,” Finch said.  
Alexis stood up.  
“All the same, I think it would be best if I left now.”  
Finch rose and put his hand out.  
“Alexis, don’t leave. Please, I know you don’t know who to trust right now, but if you will just wait for a few moments my associate will be here and maybe we can get to the bottom of why Yassin was trying to kill you.”  
“Your associate—the guy in the suit? Is coming here, now?” Alexis asked.  
“Yes,” said Finch, puzzled by her need for clarification of his simple statement. Sudden realization dawned on his face, but only a split second before Alexis threw the remaining water from her cup into his eyes and made a dash for the door.  
“Alexis, wait!” Finch called, swiping a sleeve across his face and limping after her.  
Alexis pounded towards the front door of the apartment and jerked it open, only to be greeted by the sight of Reese midway through the act of opening it himself.  
“Alexis!” Reese exclaimed, grabbing her before she could make out of the door.  
“Let go of me!” Alexis yelled.  
“Alexis, calm down!” Reese said, holding the girl against himself as she struggled to get away. He pushed the door shut with his foot and Alexis elbowed him in the ribs, trying to break free. Reese jerked back as her arm landed on his bruised midsection.  
“Ow! Alexis! Alexis, just think for a moment!” Reese half shouted, cringing in pain. He grasped her wrists and stared into her eyes. “I did not try to kill you, Yassin did. He smothered you and left you in that alley—I gave you CPR and kept you from dying, Alexis.”  
She stopped struggling for a moment.  
“I have been tracking Yassin all night, Alexis, trying to figure out why he wanted to kill you. But I wasn’t able to find out. So I need to know what you know: Alexis, why was Yassin trying to kill you? Was it because you found out he was a spy?”  
Alexis looked visibly taken aback.  
“A spy?” Alexis asked. Reese released his hold on her wrists. “Yassin is a spy?”  
“You mean you didn’t know?” Finch asked.  
“No, I had no idea,” Alexis said, sinking down into a chair.  
“If you had no idea that he was a spy, then why did he want to kill you?” Finch asked, half to Alexis, half to himself.  
“I don’t know!” Alexis said. “This whole thing makes no sense, and you need to tell me who you are,” she added looking up sharply at Reese. “I saw you, you were hanging around the theater all day Monday and Tuesday.”  
“You saw me?” Reese asked.  
“Yeah. Kinda hard to miss a guy in a suit like yours,” Alexis said. “The Feathered Curtain usually draws people with more…artistic choices of daywear. Not tailored black suits, button up grey-blue oxfords, and…concealed weapons, if you know what I mean. You looked like a spook or something. Except your suit is nicer.”  
“My name is Reese—I’m not exactly a spook.” Alexis looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. “And yes, I always wear the suit. You’ve got quite an eye for detail. Most people don’t even notice me, let alone remember the color of my shirt. Or the fact that I carry a gun with me.”  
“The small details of life are an everyday thing for me,” Alexis said. “I have what some people refer to as a photographic memory. And you looked better in the blue. The white oxfords are a little sharp for your complexion—you’re definitely more of a ‘summer’ skin tone.”  
Reese looked quizzical.  
“A photographic memory…Mr. Reese, do you suppose it’s possible that Alexis saw something of Yassin’s that she wasn’t meant to see?” Finch asked. “Information for a buyer that she accidentally stumbled across but didn’t realize what it was?”  
Reese shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Alexis, did you ever see any papers or electronic files of Yassin’s?”  
Alexis blew out a lungful of air in a sigh and flopped over sideways in the chair, her feet swinging over the edge of the armrest. She thought for a moment. “No. I barely knew the guy, let alone had the chance to snoop through his stuff. Yassin keeps to himself.”  
“Think, though—a person like Yassin wouldn’t leave his information lying around just anywhere. He would have it in a secure location, or encode it somehow,” Reese said.  
“Look, the only time I ever saw something of Yassin’s was when he dropped a folder of music and I picked it back up, put the music back into the file, and handed it back to him. I swear, that was it,” Alexis said.  
Finch and Reese pondered the information blankly. That was nothing to go on.  
“Although he did seem pretty upset when I gave it back to him,” she added as an afterthought.  
“Well that must be it,” Finch said. “What was in the folder?”  
“It was just music,” Alexis said.  
“Music?” Finch said. “That was it? Not very much to go on, is it.”  
“Except it didn’t make a lot of sense as a piece,” Alexis said thoughtfully. “The bass parts were all over the place. Nonsensical. There was no symmetry, the time signatures not even taken into consideration…”  
Finch and Reese exchanged significant glances.  
“What…you guys think it was like some sort of code or something?” Alexis asked.  
“Alexis, could you write down this music for me?” Finch asked. “I have a hunch as to what that music really is.”  
“Yeah, sure,” Alexis said, swing her legs to the ground. “You got a piece of paper?”  
“Here,” Finch said, handing Alexis a tablet. “There’s a score app. Re-write it on that.”  
“Oh cool beans,” said Alexis, taking the tablet and beginning to tap out notes. “And sorry about the whole water in the face thing,” she added.  
“Don’t mention it,” Finch said dryly.  
“Water in the face?” Reese asked surreptitiously as Alexis worked. “That’s how she got away from you?”  
“It was very sudden!” Finch said.  
“I’m the one who got shot, beat up, and dumped into an alley,” Reese retorted.  
“I can hear you, you know,” Alexis said without looking up. “Did you really get shot?” The question seemed aimed at Reese.  
“Yeah. Yassin and his buyer were a little more, uh, prepared than I had expected,” Reese said, embarrassment and logical retrospection in his tone. “And the patrons of the bar were more than a little enthusiastic in helping them escort me out. But the bullet proof vest took most of it.”  
“Who are you people? Like seriously…I feel like I’ve woken up in a James Bond movie,” Alexis sighed. “Russian assassins…suit-wearing crime fighters…ain’t nobody got time for that. Ok. Done. Here’s the score that I saw from Yassin’s music.” She handed the tablet to Finch.  
Finch took the tablet from Alexis and studied the music.  
“Well, that wouldn’t make much of a song, now would it?” he said. Alexis shook her head.  
“That’s what I thought.”  
“And you said he seemed upset that you saw it?” Finch asked.  
“Yeah. Kinda growled at me,” Alexis said. Reese frowned. “Told me that if I ever told anyone about the music he would get me fired.”  
“You didn’t think that was a little unusual?” Reese asked.  
“Hey. We’re musicians. Eccentricity is the name of the game in an act like The Feathered Curtain—I just thought it was some special composition he’d done that he didn’t want anyone seeing yet,” Alexis said, shrugging. “And I could see why, ya know what I mean? So I told him not to sweat it. I’d forget I ever saw it. Figuratively, of course.”  
“I’m running a diagnostic decryption program on the score, so if it’s a code we’ll find out in a minute,” Finch said. “In the mean time, what are we going to do about Yassin?”  
“He’ll be trying to unload his information as quickly as possible,” Reese said. “But I’m pretty sure I put a kink in his plans.”  
“How so?” Alexis asked.  
“Well, I shot him for one,” said Reese.  
“You shot him and he still got away?” Finch asked.  
“The guy rabbited. Bullet just hit him in the shoulder. His buyer was a little more…enthusiastic about trying to neutralize me. Let’s just say he’s fired his last round,” Reese said.  
Alexis raised her eyebrows. “You guys are too much. If this gets out of hand and we all end up in jail, I am going to stick with plausible deniability. Speaking of police…shouldn’t we give them a buzz? I mean, it is their job to catch criminals after all. This is a job for the CIA or the FBI, isn’t it? Not just…vigilantes like you.” A question hovered above Alexis’ use of the word “vigilantes.”  
“Like I said,” Finch began. “…We’re sort of a private security firm.”  
“Mhm. That’s ok. I’ve met all types. If worse comes to worse I won’t rat you out or anything. You did save my life after all,” Alexis said dismissively. Finch raised his eyebrows and Reese grinned. He was beginning to warm up to Alexis’ odd pragmatism.  
“Oh. Here we go,” Finch said, looking down at the tablet, which had beeped. “Looks like the decryption program is finished.”  
“What’s it mean?” Alexis asked, peering over Finch’s shoulder.  
Finch studied the stream of code for a moment.  
“Oh, this is quite elegant,” he said, adjusting his glasses and peering more closely at the screen.  
“What is, Finch?” Reese pressed.  
“This code. It’s…it’s an algorithm that looks like some sort of communication system.”  
“Communication system?” Alexis asked. “So what—he’s hawking the code to the iPhone 6 or something?”  
“No, not like that.” Finch tapped through the code on the screen. “Oh dear it’s much worse. This code would, in simple terms, create a worm in any system you uploaded it to, that allow you autonomous control…with practically total invisibility! In the wrong hands—terrorists, North Koreans, wh-whoever—this could lead to complete world chaos!”  
“Yeah, no kidding,” Reese said flatly, his face dark.  
“What are we going to do? Yassin still has the program, and his buyer will undoubtedly send another man to retrieve the information—as soon as possible!”  
“Well it’s a code, Finch—can’t you hack it and sabotage the system?” Reese asked.  
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mr. Reese. Whoever has the music has the code, and can manually activate it as many times as they want. In order to destroy the code we have to destroy the hard copies of the music as well,” Finch said.  
“Heh—like I said: cops?” Alexis prompted.  
“I’m not sure—“ Finch began but Reese cut him off.  
“That might be a good idea, Alexis. And I know just the cop to help out.” 

\--

“Mr. Reese, are you sure that Yassin will be trying to sell the program at the concert?” Finch asked via his phone from the library. Reese was on his way to the concert hall and it was about two hours before the first performance was slated to begin.  
“Yeah. Yassin may be a bad shot, but he’s smart when it comes to his own safety. Trading at the concert gives him the advantage since it’s on his turf--especially if it’s a higher level person coming to retrieve it,” Reese said.  
“Well, I suppose you know more about mercenaries than I do,” Finch said. “I just hope you’re right.”  
Me too, Reese thought, and clicked off the Bluetooth. Alexis had wanted to come with him, but Reese had refused. If Yassin was there he didn’t want him to spook or worse—try to kill Alexis again. Keeping eyes on both Alexis and Yassin at the same time was not something Reese wanted to mess with.  
He slid through the back door, weaving his way through the musician-filled halls of the back portion of the theater.  
“Hey—you again…what’s going on now?” A voice came from behind. Reese turned to see Josh looking at him quizzically.  
“It’s ok. I’m with the band.” Reese pulled up a photograph of Yassin on his phone and held it up in front of Josh’s face. “If you see this man, let me know immediately,” Reese said, and trotted up the stairs to the balcony. The elevated position gave Reese eyes on most of the theater, and Reese wanted to make a thorough sweep of the auditorium before going through the back rooms and hallways.  
As Reese scanned the auditorium, he could see the hustle and bustle that went into prepping the stage for the performance. Dancers were rehearsing, brilliantly plumaged parrots were flapping across the stage, and a pianist pounded out a tango. Someone threw the lights, bathing the stage in darkness punctuated by red and yellow moving spotlights trained on the dancers. Reese sighed. There was no way to spot Yassin in the auditorium now.  
Reese was not terribly worried though. He hadn’t expected to see Yassin in the main part of the building. It was the inner workings of the back hallways and dressing rooms that Reese expected to corner his prey. He dialed a number on his phone.  
“Fusco.”  
“Detective. How do you feel about Piazzolla?” Reese asked demurely.  
“About what?” Fusco asked. “And what is that noise? Where are you—South America?”  
“Never mind. Come to the address I’m texting you. I should have a little something you and national security might be interested in.” Reese clicked off his phone and sent Fusco the address of the theater before heading back down the stairs. Time to get to business.  
“Hey—hey, detective dude!” Reese turned as Josh called out to him.  
“What is it, Josh? I’m a very busy man.”  
“Take it easy. You said you wanted to know if I saw Yassin hangin’ around anywhere,” Josh said.  
“Yes? And?” Reese prompted.  
“And so I saw him,” Josh shrugged.  
“Do you know where he is now?” Reese asked.  
“Yeah. He just went into the south hallway and headed towards the back,” Josh said.  
“Thanks, Josh,” Reese said. “You’re not as useless as you look.”  
“You’re welcome. …Hey!” 

The south hallway of the building was unused. The perfect place to make an exchange.  
“How are things progressing, Mr. Reese?” Finch asked through the Bluetooth.  
“Not bad. I think I may be closing in on Yassin,” Reese said, his gun drawn as he made his way cautiously down the darkened hallway. Only a few dim fluorescent lights flickered illumination in the unused wing. “But I can’t talk now. I’ll update you later.”  
It was at that precise moment that something hard and heavy collided with a sharp crack against the back of Reese’s head. Reese took a nosedive to the ground and lay still.  
“Perhaps…perhaps not.” Yassin stood over him with a gun in his hand. “I’m going to make sure you stay dead this time.” 

 

\-- 

The bite of tight plastic zip ties and the cold metal of a folding chair against his wrists and ankles were the first sensations Reese felt as he came to. He tried to blink away the black specs clouding his vision.  
“I’m not dead yet?” Reese asked, smiling pleasantly. “That’s an unexpected surprise.”  
Yassin was standing over him and a second person was leaning against the wall behind the Russian. They were idling in a deserted room tucked away in the back corner of the south hall.  
“You’re not dead yet because I am a very curious man, fortunate for you,” said Yassin. A gun was poised in his right hand. His left arm was in a sling. “So, here’s how this goes. You answer my questions, and your death will be quick and easy.”  
“Yeah. Like you killed me before?” Reese asked. Yassin let off something very close to a growl.  
“Quite the joker, aren’t you. Question one: who are you?” Yassin circled Reese, asserting his power through a presence of intimidation.  
“…You could call me a concerned third party,” Reese said.  
“A concerned third party?” Yassin asked. “Like, the CIA, or the NSA? You strike me as the CIA type, I think.”  
“Then it looks like you’ve already got your answer,” Reese said.  
The second man moved forward.  
“Yassin. This guy is no good. Just shoot him and continue with the trade. We’ve had too much go wrong already and for your price and the information we’re bargaining for here, I cannot afford to have anything else get screwed up.”  
“That is why I can’t shoot him yet, Dominic,” Yassin said. “I need to know how much he knows and how much he has already fed back to his superiors. Is my cover blown, mister secret-agent man? And what about the girl? Do I need to take care of her again?”  
“Well, I have managed to track you down three times,” Reese said. He paused and let that sink in. “And I will never let you hurt Alexis again.”  
“Sounds pretty blown to me,” Dominic laughed. “Which means that very quickly, this program will be no good, and you don’t get your money.”  
“Shut up,” said Yassin. “And you,” he turned to Reese. “I was going to kill Alexis anyways after the trade. I couldn’t risk her finding out what she had seen. But you butted in and I had to speed things up.”  
“Yeah, butting in—I’m good at that,” Reese said. “In fact, you could say that I specialize in it.”  
Yassin’s mouth hardened angrily.  
“Well, you and Alexis will both die. There is nowhere for you to run now, and finding her will not be difficult, I think. Any last words?” He un-clicked the safety from his handgun and pointed it between Reese’s eyes.  
“Uh, can I think about that for a minute?” Reese said, futilely trying to twist his hands out of their bonds.  
“Sorry. No time to waste,” said Yassin. “Goodbye, whoever you are.” Reese flinched involuntarily as Yassin’s finger tightened around the trigger.  
Bam.  
Yassin froze, his eyes glazed over, and he dropped to the ground. Alexis stood behind him, her violin case in her hands. She had just used the carbon fiber case to give Yassin a colossal whack on the head a as his finger had tightened around the trigger. The bullet had gone just wide of Reese’s head.  
“Alexis! What are you doing here?” Reese asked.  
“Finch got worried,” Alexis said, putting down her case and pulling out a pocketknife. “Thought you could use a hand.”  
“Wait, there were two men, Alexis,” Reese said worriedly.  
“I already got the other guy while you and Yassin were giving each other the stink eye over the whole last words thing,” Alexis said, cutting Reese free of the zip ties. He stood up.  
“Thanks. You’re a real lifesaver, Alexis.”  
She grinned.  
“Just returning the favor.”

\--

Reese watched as Fusco hauled Yassin and his buyer out to a police cruiser. At Alexis’ request, the detective had called backup, but had not had them come sirens blazing. Alexis didn’t want to spoil the opening night of The Feathered Curtain’s act in New York City. The director, however, had been called in and informed of the situation. He still hadn’t figured out how a reporter from the Times had caught onto an espionage plot within his performers, but he was both concerned and grateful at the same time.  
“Here—these are for you!” he had said, handing Reese and Fusco each a ticket. They were for front row seats. “I can’t thank you enough for exposing this dangerous person and bringing him to justice! The Feathered Curtain stands for peace and prosperity, not danger and law-breaking…” Reese and Fusco had edged away before the director could get going on another monologue.  
“Wow. This has been an unusual night,” Fusco said, peering at the ticket. “But music’s not really my thing. Here…you and Mr. Good News should stay and enjoy the, uh, performance,” he said, shoving his ticket into Reese’s hand as a parrot flapped over his head. “I gotta get these two guys back to the precinct.”  
“Maybe that’s just what we need, Harold,” Reese said into his earpiece. “A night out at the theater.” 

Harold looked at his phone one last time and then put it on silent. He hated people who didn’t properly mute their phones at a performance. Reese was sitting next to him, an ice pack on the back of his head. Alexis had insisted that he take care of himself after noticing the bruises Yassin’s attacks had left.  
Alexis had persuaded them to stay and catch the act. Finch was surprised that the girl wanted to go on with the performance with all that she had been through.  
“Hey—no harm no foul in the end,” Reese said. “The show must go on.”  
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” said Finch.  
“Like you said, Finch: she’s an adventurer.”  
The lights dimmed and the crowd hushed.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests and patrons of the arts! I give you, The Feathered Curtain!” the MC said with a flourish, and the orchestra struck up their signature Fugata.  
“Nothing like a night on the town every once in a while, eh Finch?” Reese asked as they watched the performance.  
“I always did enjoy a good night out at the symphony,” Finch revealed. “This is…a little different than the symphony.”  
“Yeah. But you can’t beat the violin section,” Reese said with a smile, and sat back to enjoy the rest of the concert.


End file.
